Don't worry. None of this blood is mine.

Seriously, though. Look at this fucking jelly bean.

Sometimes, just sometimes, the Candy Goblins will get caught in their own rattle-clanking machinery, and their saccharine corpses become yet another ingredient in the deliciousness they produce. And other times, I have no idea what happens, because just look at this fucker.

This is a jelly bean. I’m not even kidding. I can’t bring myself to throw it away.

Looks okay on one side, right? I mean, it’s about 17 times larger than it should be, but whatever. That should be a feature, not a bug.

And then, flip the little fucker over, and you’ve got this abomination unto the Lord.

Initial scientific analysis suggests that it would be unwise to eat this thing.

The main evidence is that it’s as hard as a golf ball and the colour of ass cancer, but I’m still waiting to hear back from the lab.

Damn man! You know, you just scared the hell out of me with that. I live in the States and here we’re used to mass produced food fuckups like yours there, but we Americans all have this romantic notion that in Europe in general food is somehow magically more awesome then food in America. And I’m seriously considering grad school in Britain…now I’m worried about dying of a Nurgle worshiping jelly bean

Dude, is that the correct spelling of ‘ass’ you were looking for? as in, ass the donkey, or arse the human anal area.
Although to be honest, I think ass cancer would probably be as grim and hilarious as arse cancer. 😉

Who? Why?

My name’s Aaron W Dembski-Bowden.

Don’t ask about the W – let’s just forget it exists and forgive my parents for a bizarre choice of middle name. Y’know, I used to tell people it stood for Wolfgang, but no one ever believed me. I’m not a skilled liar.

I write a lot, and people pay me to do it. I argue a lot, but I do that for free. If you want to start paying me to argue, please apply within. My rates would be generous, and my cynical wrath without peer.

I have a cat, but I prefer dogs. Most of my clothes are black, but my favourite colour is orange. I was born in a really dark, grim patch of London, but I moved to the greenest parts of Northern Ireland. This last factoid arises from being in love with a beautiful Irish girl who foolishly agreed to marry me – and that it’s easier to write out here in the middle of nowhere with only fields, cats, and hot redheads for company.